“That’s my cue,” I mutter, stepping away from the bar—and stopping. Splitting a look between Tobias and Banks. “Are you two going to help him or not?”
I can see it. That glimmer of competitiveness that was on display in the Times food service room. Maybe they’re still hoping to edge each other out in the relationship race with me? If there was a hope in hell of a real relationship, I mean. What is wrong with them? I don’t know, but for several seconds, Tobias and Banks stare at each other, waiting to see what the other will do. And then, they simultaneously sigh and push away from the bar.
“I’ll create a diversion.” Tobias sighs. “It’s pretty much what I’ve been doing the entire evening just by looking like this.”
Banks groans. “How has nobody kicked this guy’s ass yet?”
He winks. “Too busy getting ass for them to catch me.”
I stare at him blankly.
“I hate him.” This, a simple statement from Banks. Then to me, “I’ll hang close to you and step in where necessary.”
Tobias holds out his right hand in front of him, picking up my left one and placing it on top, nodding for Banks to do the same. “Tram Fam on three.”
Banks and I drop our hands and walk away in disgust. As soon as I get within earshot of Gabe and the others, I’m cringing over what’s coming out of their mouths.
“You were just keeping her warm for big bro, right?”
A round of raunchy laughter. My skin crawls.
“Can you hear them going at it through the walls? Good thing you know how to insulate.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe he’s a cuckold.”
Two of them are doubled over at this point, holding their sides, tears of mirth rolling down their cheeks. And honestly, one would have to be drunk to think any of these one-liners are killing. I’m going to shut them up for the sake of comedy alone.
I arrive at Gabe’s side, pretending to be oblivious about what’s happening and I intertwine my fingers with his. The jokesters freeze in the act of sipping their drinks, a couple of pairs of eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling. Satisfied that I have their attention, I lift up onto my toes and kiss Gabe’s ear, asking loud enough to be heard, “Can you take me upstairs now?” I open my mouth against the side of his throat and breathe heavily, eyes closed. It starts out as an act, but his sawdust and coffee and soap scent hits me in the pit of my stomach and claws lower until it’s me. It’s me wanting to inhale him. “I need you.”
Remembering myself and my mission, I pass a shy look around the circle of men.
“So sorry to steal him, gentlemen.” I stroke my finger along the curve of Gabe’s chin. “But I’m sure you all have dates to keep you company, right?”
At first, they just appear stunned by my arrival—and more than a little impressed, thank you very much—but my question soon sinks in and they begin to shift in their wingtips, like three trees blowing in different directions. “We’re stag tonight,” one of them says, finally.
I push out my lower lip. “Awww. Can’t imagine why.”
Some uncomfortable laughter fills the silence.
They’re trying to tell if I’m joking, but I don’t give anything away.
“How the hell did Gabe pull this girl?” asks one of the drunker ones.
Irritation zaps in my fingertips, throat. “Actually, I asked him out. Best decision I’ve made in a long time.” I snuggle suggestively into Gabe’s side, taking his big hand and sliding it slowly along my hip. “And I’m getting impatient to have him all to myself. Good night, gentlemen. We’re going to find a much more enjoyable way to spend the evening.”
They watch us leave as if trying to figure out whether or not I’ve insulted them. They figure it out when we’re about ten feet away. “Hey,” shouts the same guy who wondered out loud how Gabe pulled me. “You know who you’re on a date with?” He sways a little, coming toward us. “The laughingstock of—”
I see and hear it all happening in slow-motion.
Tobias holds up his martini in the middle of the dancefloor. “Gather around, everyone. I’ll tell you about the time a royal—who shall remain unnamed for legal purposes—snuck me into Windsor for a game of truth or dare involving ski masks and rubber duckies…”
While that tale is being spun, Banks oh-so-casually spills his drink on the floor. The leader of the punk posse steps directly into the puddle, his foot eliciting a wet squeak. He pinwheels for a few seconds, before landing smack on his butt in front of everyone. I want to revel in the wonder of it all. I really do. But I don’t need a crystal ball to know this situation is going to escalate. Fast.